Billy
by Chapin CSI
Summary: Slash. Gil & Greg. Years after adopting a baby boy, Greg worries about Gil's relationship with Billy. NEW: A prequel. After a difficult year, Greg makes plans for their first Christmas together but disaster strikes when Billy takes one of Gil's books.
1. Billy

Billy

Ok, I know nothing about kids, so maybe I'm the last person who should be writing a story about Gil and Greg adopting a kid. Yet here I am, presenting this first story about Billy, the little boy they adopted in Guatemala. The story of that adoption is still in the works, (knowing me, that story probably won't be ready till next year!). Meanwhile, here's a little moment in their lives…

* * *

"Rrrrrrh -"

The murmur was persistent, but Greg Sanders didn't notice it. He was sitting in the kitchen, his attention entirely focused on the lap top open in front of him. He was looking at it with something close to a scowl. He'd almost finished writing a report but there were a couple of pesky paragraphs still giving him trouble. He probably should have deleted them the minute he realized they didn't make sense, but he'd resisted; he thought all they needed was a little rewrite. Now, it seemed like his only option was to start the whole thing over.

It was so damn frustrating. Greg couldn't understand why he, who found it so easy to talk to people, had such a hard time turning his thoughts into written words. It always had been like this.

He sat back and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, he didn't look at his lap top but at the open window. Outside, the day loomed sunny and clear –a perfect day for anyone whose idea of happiness was to sit in the yard with a book and a tall glass of iced tea. Or maybe lemonade.

Gil thought days like these were made for yard work; in fact, right now, he was out there, pulling weeds and watering pots. No report-writing for Gil Grissom; oh, no, Greg thought morosely. Grissom composed the best reports Greg had ever read, and he wrote them amazingly fast.

On the other hand, Grissom had a difficult time talking. An extremely difficult time. Not that he did not talk; he just needed a little coaxing.

Greg smiled. Coaxing Gil could be such fun -

'Stop,' he told himself firmly. This wasn't the right time to be thinking of Grissom –although it was precisely because of Grissom that Greg fussed so much over his reports. As the boss' life partner, Greg felt duty bound to do a better job than the rest -not only to make Gil proud, but also to silence anyone who might think he got a special treatment from the boss.

Hence, the need to write a perfect report.

Greg looked down at the screen again and this time he didn't hesitate; he deleted the paragraphs. He'd start from zero.

With a sigh, he picked his notes again.

"Bom, bom, rrrrh-"

This time, Greg noticed the mumbling noise behind him. His brow relaxed as if by magic. Forgetting about the report, and smiling in anticipation of the scene he was about to witness, he glanced over his shoulder.

A little boy was kneeling on a rug, just a few feet away. Unaware of Greg's scrutiny, he continued playing with his wooden toy car, his lips pursed as he made those bom bom, rrrrrh sounds. He made the car roll down the black border of the rug -an imaginary road.

There were other toy cars lined nearby, including a couple of new trucks from Mattel; but the boy's attention was solely focused on the car in his hand, one of a half-dozen cars made of wood that Greg had recently given him.

Greg smiled indulgently. Those wooden cars and trucks had been lovingly handcrafted for him by Papa Olaf, more than twenty-five years ago. Greg didn't really appreciate them at the time, (and why would he, with more sophisticated toys to choose from?) but he'd kept them as a memento from his beloved grandfather.

If someone had told him that one day there would be a little boy who would cherish those toys above others, he wouldn't have believed it.

That this little boy would be his own son was just as unimaginable.

Billy. His son.

He and Gil had adopted the boy during a trip to Central America. He was almost three years old now; a bit tiny for his age but a far cry from the sickly child he'd been back then. He'd turned into a lively boy who charmed everybody –even Ecklie, who'd been unable to keep his 'no kids in the lab' rule during a recent visit. By the end of the shift he, too, was playing with the child.

"Uurrrrrmmmm -" Billy growled. He pushed the truck until it reached the sleeping form of Truddie, their Lab dog. "Oh, a big mountain," Billy said, and he carefully made the trailer climb Truddie's leg.

Truddie, already used to the child's games, didn't even wake up.

Suddenly, a shadow blocked the light coming through the window, and both Billy and Greg looked up.

Grissom was standing there, a huge grin gracing his sweaty face.

"Hey, Billy," he said, "You wanna lend me hand?"

The boy's luminous brown eyes lit up.

"Sure!" he said. Then, without missing a beat, he raised both hands and added, "Which one do you want?"

It was one of the standard jokes in the house.

"I'm going to need both," Gil said good-naturedly. "It's time to clean the earthworms' home."

And at the mention of the word 'earthworms' both Billy and Greg looked at each other and said, with perfect timing, 'EARTHWORMS? EEEEW!' But Billy rose from his comfortable place on the rug, willing to help.

Grissom's smile widened.

"Go put on your rubber boots."

"Yes, Gil," Billy said, clumsily trotting to his room.

"And your rubber gloves!" Gil called out.

"Yes, Gil!"

Greg followed Billy's retreating form with his eyes, and then he glanced back at Grissom. He didn't say anything because it was a subject he and Gil had discussed a few times before, but it still bothered him, the fact that Billy never called Gil, 'daddy.' Billy loved Gil and he trusted him, yet for some reason, his attitude remained that of a pupil towards a beloved teacher. Respectful. A bit distant.

Sometimes it was as if Billy were in awe of Gil…

Gil, on the other hand, didn't mind not being called 'daddy'. The last time Greg had broached the subject, Gil had shrugged, 'Hey, he can call me Lumbricus Rubellus if he wants.'

Now, Greg merely smiled at Gil.

"So. Earthworms, huh? Couldn't you bond with your son over something less messy?"

"Hey, earthworms are clean creatures," Gil said indignantly. Then he smiled mischievously, "I've heard they're also tasty and nutritious."

"Eeew."

Gil smiled back.

"Billy loves to get down and dirty," he said. "And he's learning all the names of the plants and the insects in the back yard -"

Listening to him, it suddenly occurred to Greg that Gil sometimes treated Billy like a pupil. He was always talking about teaching Bill something. Spanish. Baseball and football.

It was ok, Greg supposed. Someone had to teach Billy sports, anyway. Still… Sometimes he worried. After all, Gil had never really wanted kids; the only reason he went along with the adoption was because Billy's life was at risk.

It had been an imposition.

From the start, Greg had done everything possible to help man and child to bond. He'd even toyed with the idea of calling the child Gilbert, only to get a resounding 'no way,' from Grissom, who didn't exactly hate his name, but said that it was an 'old person's name.' So, in the end Greg settled for William in the hopes that somehow it would get _Bill_ and _Gil_ closer.

Now, listening to Gil chatter about Billy's work in the yard, there was no doubt in his mind that Gil had grown to love Billy…

"Tell Billy I'll be waiting," Gil said after a moment. As he stepped into the yard, he called out, "You can help us, if you want."

"Gee, thanks," Greg muttered sarcastically. Yard work was not his thing.

Moments later, Billy entered the kitchen, his rubber boots making a funny sucking noise on the linoleum. His arms were thrust forward, the rubber gloves held in his hands like a heavy offering. He still hadn't mastered the art of putting his fingers in the corresponding spaces, and he needed help from Greg.

Once he had his gloves on, Billy trotted to the door, only to stop abruptly.

"What's wrong?" Greg asked.

"Forgot," Billy said, and he turned around and rushed to Greg. "I'm gonna be outside, daddy," he said, and then he pulled at Greg's sleeve until the young man was leaning sideways. Billy tiptoed and kissed Greg on the cheek. "I'm gonna help Daddy Gil!"

"Have fun," Greg said. He smiled as Billy made his way outside. Such a sweet kid, he probably felt he was deserting one dad for the other.

Greg turned to his computer, more determined than ever to finish the report so he could join his guys –if only to watch. But before he could start, he suddenly realized that once again, Billy had referred to Gil as 'Daddy Gil'.

Why he wouldn't call Gil 'daddy' to his face was something Greg couldn't understand...

But it didn't matter. Judging by the laughs already coming from the yard, they got along just fine; and that was all that mattered.

--

Greg was deeply focused on his report again, when suddenly, Gil rushed inside.

"Hey," Greg smiled, "That was -" he didn't finish what he was going to say because Grissom looked like he'd just seen a ghost.

"Call Dr. Morris," he said tightly, and then he turned to the cabinet where they kept emergency medical supplies.

Greg's heart sank. Dr. Morris was Billy's Pediatrician. He immediately picked his phone and punched a number.

"What happened?"

"Bee sting," Gil said cryptically before rushing outside.

Greg began to breathe more easily. It wasn't that bad, he told himself; Billy wasn't allergic to bee stings -

But on the other hand, Billy had been a sickly baby, prone to other type of allergies. He'd recovered since then, but…

But you never know.

As Greg followed Gil outside, he prepared himself to see the worst.

Once again, relief flooded his veins: It didn't look so bad.

Billy was sitting on a deck chair, holding his arm close to his body. He was obviously in pain - his face was very red and his lips were pressed together -but he wasn't crying.

This was one of Billy's traits, one that had remained despite two years living with caring parents. He never cried.

It made them wonder about Billy's life before the adoption. They didn't know much, but it was obvious that the child had been neglected. From his behavior, one could assume he'd learned very early that complaining or showing pain would only lead to some sort of punishment, and so he'd always hold back.

He was a stoic little boy.

Greg's first impulse was to rush to Billy and fuss, but Grissom got in the way. The older man hunched down in front of Billy and said something soothing to the boy, who trustingly held out his arm for examination.

Greg was looking at all this when finally, Dr. Morris answered the call.

"A bee sting," Dr. Morris said after Greg explained. "Tell me, is he having difficulty to breathe?"

"No, he's not," Greg said, looking over Gil's shoulder. As he described Billy's appearance, Greg was struck by how quietly and efficiently Gil worked. For once, he was thankful that Gil saw Billy as a pupil; it allowed him to work on the child's wound in a detached manner. "Gil is scrapping the sting with the tip of a pocket knife," he added.

"Yes," Dr. Morris said, "That's the best course to take. Otherwise, the sting would release more venom." After a moment, he added, "Tell Gil to put some antiseptic on it -"

But Gil had already reached for the bottle of antiseptic and a cotton ball. His hand shook a little as he opened the bottle.

"I saw the bee," Gil said suddenly. He looked at Greg for the first time since they'd come outside. "I saw it and didn't do anything. I should have been more careful. I -" But he couldn't speak and hold Greg's gaze at the same time. He looked down again. "I could have done something to prevent this," he finished quietly.

Greg wanted to comfort him, but Dr. Morris was still giving him instructions on the phone. All he could do was watch as Gil reached for Billy's arm and gently held it.

"This is going to sting, Billy," Gil said softly. He paused for a moment, and then he gently swabbed the wound with the cotton ball.

Billy flinched and tried to disengage his arm, but Gil held on to it.

"I know," Gil whispered soothingly, "It hurts. I -I'm so sorry -"

Something in Gil's voice made Billy look up. His eyes widened.

Greg thought Billy's reaction was due to the pain, but when he glanced at Gil's face, his own eyes widened too.

A tear was rolling down Grissom's cheek.

Grissom was looking down at the purple wound on Billy's arm.

"I'm sorry…" he kept saying. "I'm so sorry…"

Greg tried to say something comforting, but Billy reacted first. Transfixed by the sight of his dad crying, he reached out and touched Gil's face. Clumsily, he wiped a tear. There were more, but he didn't touch those. He probably couldn't see them anymore, because by now his own eyes were filling with tears.

Billy's body shook with the first sob.

"Daddy," he whispered. "Daddy, don't be sad."

Gil looked up into the child's eyes.

Looking at them, Greg had forgotten all about Dr. Morris. He jumped when the doctor's voice suddenly broke through.

"Greg? Are you still there?" He sounded worried. "What's the matter? How is Billy doing?"

Greg watched as father and son flung their arms around each other.

He smiled.

"They're gonna be fine," he said softly.

* * *

The end


	2. Christmas with Billy, Part One

Christmas with Billy

Part one.

Important note: This story is a prequel to 'Billy'.

Brief mention of W/S

* * *

Greg Sanders carefully set the wooden box on the coffee table, then sat on the edge of the couch.

Reverently, he removed the lid of the box, then a layer of straw, brittle and loosely packed that he encountered next. Finally, in their nests of tissue paper, the treasure was revealed: crystal baubles, gleaming despite a slight coating of dust.

When Greg picked up the first, the faint scent of flowers reached him. Mama Olaf's scent.

Greg smiled; he had great memories of his grandmother –her smile, for instance; her melodious voice and the funny mix of English and Norwegian that she spoke. And her love for him, of course. She was a sweet, dotting grandmother…

Except when it came to her precious Christmas ornaments.

'These aren't for play,' she would admonish, whenever she noticed the covetous look in her grandson's eyes. She knew how obsessed he was with those crystal baubles. He'd spend hours looking at them, wondering what it would be like to hold one of those impossibly fragile, precious ornaments; wishing he could touch one of them at least…

But she never let him. As she admitted years later, she was afraid he'd use them in some wacky experiment, (which went to prove just how well she knew her grandson!). It wasn't till Greg moved away from home that she'd finally relented, and only because by then he was making a successful living handling fragile glass objects at a lab, which for her was proof enough that her precious ornaments would be safe.

Unfortunately, Greg had no interest in the ornaments anymore. He was a single guy living in a cramped apartment, with no space for a Christmas tree, or time for celebrations. He took the ornaments because they were his legacy; his Mama Olaf was bestowing a great honor on him. But even when he moved to better digs in New York and later in Las Vegas, the box stayed in a corner of his apartment, forgotten and collecting dust.

If his life had gone on the way it seemed headed only two years ago, then the box would have stayed untouched. But things had changed, in ways he couldn't have foreseen back then. Now, for the first time in fifteen years, he had enough space to put up a tree. More importantly, he had a partner and a son he could share these treasures with: Gil and Billy.

This was their first Christmas together, and Greg was determined to make the most of the season.

"It's not our first Christmas together," a punctilious Grissom had pointed out the day before. But the way Greg saw it, last Christmas didn't count. December was the culmination of a really crappy year: Billy had been sick, (so sick, in fact, that Greg had started to wonder if maybe it was Las Vegas itself that the child was allergic to). He and Gil had been having problems, too. With Billy's unplanned adoption, they'd been forced to make drastic changes in their lives –changes they weren't prepared for. First, Greg had to give up his apartment and move into Gil's house. Then, to make sure that someone would always be there for Billy, Grissom had left the night-shift in exchange for a lesser job with the day shift. This was only temporary because Greg's aunt Karen offered to come to Las Vegas to help; but while having someone with experience around was great, it also meant having yet another person in Grissom's house.

And if things were difficult for Greg, it had to be infinitely worse for Grissom, who, after living alone for much of his life, (and managing quite well by the way), had suddenly found himself sharing his space with a boyfriend and a son -and a full-time nanny.

Looking back, Greg believed it was Grissom's innate sense of duty that got him through: he simply accepted his new situation as if it had been an extension of his job. It helped that Aunt Karen was a fiercely independent woman who insisted on keeping a place of her own, but Greg knew there were times when the house had felt just too small for the four of them.

But that was all in the past now, Greg told himself firmly. Billy was healthier, and the three of them were finally getting used to living together under one roof. Things were looking up for the Granders, (that's what he privately called their family), and they were going to celebrate their first Christmas in style. Sorting out Christmas ornaments was the first step; then they'd go get a tree -

A tree. Greg took a speculative look around. He still hadn't decided where he was going to put it, but with a lively boy and an active dog in the house, he'd need the safest area if his ornaments were to survive.

As if on cue, Truddie, who had been lying next to him, lifted her head and looked expectantly in the bedrooms' direction. Alerted by sounds only she could hear, she tentatively wagged her tail.

Billy was waking up.

It was the sign Greg was waiting for to start fixing breakfast.

-------

Later that day, with Billy quietly drawing in the kitchen, Greg returned to his task in the living room. He was opening a second box of ornaments, when Grissom came in through the font door. Unlike Greg, who'd only been on call the night before, he'd worked a twelve-hour shift and looked it.

"Hey," Greg said, looking up. "How was your night?"

Gil's answer was delayed by Truddie, who shot out of the kitchen and jumped at him, demanding his immediate attention. Gil complied.

"It was a typical Friday night," he replied at last. As a rule, they made an effort not to bring their jobs home, and so he left it at that. Still patting Truddie's head, Gil glanced around. "Where's -"

"Gil!" Billy yelled, running to him.

"There he is!" Gil yelled back and caught him under the arms. "Billy-the-kid!" He hugged the boy and then sat him on the crook of his arm. He eyed Billy critically, paying close attention to the front of his t-shirt.

Billy was smiling under the scrutiny.

"Ok," Grissom said slowly, "I can see you had eggs for breakfast -" He lifted one eyebrow, "Soft boiled."

"Yes!" Billy nodded enthusiastically.

"And strawberry jam -"

Greg scoffed. Leave it to Grissom to play 'follow the evidence' with their kid. What Billy did was 'accidentally' smear his shirt with minuscule amounts of food, planting enough evidence for Gil to find. That he did it on purpose was obvious; he wasn't a sloppy eater as a rule.

Gil put Billy down.

"So, where were you?"

"In the kitchen," Billy said. "I was drawing!" He waved the Crayola crayon he had tightly clutched in his hand. "There's a book with funny pictures in it -"

"Oh yeah? Which book?"

"The one with the insects. And the funny men and the funny ladies -"

Greg frowned. He didn't remember giving Billy any coloring book with insects in it. Billy's books had funny men and funny ladies and funny animals, but surely none of those had insects. Billy's copy of 'A Bug's Life' had ended up in Aunt Karen's house, the colored pages now hanging on the walls.

Only Grissom's textbooks had insects on them –

'Uh, oh,' Greg thought with a sinking feeling.

Grissom was frowning, too.

"Which book is that?"

"I'll show you!" Billy said, happily taking Gil's hand to guide him back into the kitchen. "See?" he added, pointing at the dinning table where, among coloring books from a half-dozen Disney franchises, a thick book lay open-

The men instantly recognized it. From where they stood, they could see the illustrations of funny men and funny ladies, and, yes, funny insects too. They'd been crudely colored by Billy, who'd also added some illustrations of his own: tiny drawings floating on the margins of the white pages.

Gil froze. "Oh, my God," he whispered.

Greg showed less restraint. "Shit," he whispered, then he ruefully closed his eyes.

It was his fault.

He'd put his books in Grissom's bookshelves when he moved in, and then he'd simply added Billy's books to the growing pile. He was always talking about getting another bookcase but he never did. And then today he simply told Billy to go ahead and pick any coloring books he wanted, and Billy had picked what he thought was a coloring book…

And with the funny men and the funny ladies on the cover, Edward Lear's Book of Nonsense did look like a children's book like the others, except that this was most definitely not a children's book like all the others; it was a first edition. More importantly, it was a gift from Gil's father –the last gift he gave his son before he died. Grissom had treasured that book for decades; he'd even bought a cheap version to read so this book would last longer…

For Gil, this wasn't just a book; it was an heirloom. A treasure.

Irreplaceable.

Grissom managed a couple of unsteady steps to the table but didn't touch the book. All he could do was look down at it.

He was speechless –something that didn't happen often. Even when he faced the worst crimes imaginable, Gil's dry humor helped him put things in perspective. A phrase, a quote –there was always something he would say to lighten up the mood.

But there were times when all he could do was contemplate the destruction and wonder _why?_

"D'you like it?" Billy asked eagerly.

Looking at Billy's upturned face, Grissom forced himself to smile.

"Billy -" he said at last. _'It's very pretty,'_ he wanted to say, but somehow the words wouldn't come.

Greg quickly intervened.

"Hum, Billy? Why don't you go get your jacket? We're going to the mall, remember?" Actually, they were going in the afternoon but he didn't think Billy would mind if they changed their plans.

"Yes!" Billy yelled, "Santa's waiting!"

Instantly forgetting the book and his drawings, the boy ran to his room.

Greg turned to Grissom.

"Gil, I'm sorry -"

Grissom was looking incredulously at him. "You gave him the book?"

"I didn't. I just told him to go ahead and pick a book, and -" That sounded like he was putting the blame on Billy, so he quickly added, "I should have been there; I should have made sure he'd pick the right books -"

But Grissom wasn't really listening; he was looking down at his book again and, after a moment's hesitation, picked it up. He didn't check the damage; instead, he closed it and mournfully held it in his arms.

Gil's reaction completely threw Greg off. If Grissom had yelled, if he had ranted about Greg's carelessness, or if –God forbid- he had scolded Billy, then Greg would have had a suitable response, something like 'It's only a book, for God's sake!'; but with Grissom holding his book as if it were a dying pet, there was nothing he could say.

But there had to be something he could do, damn it.

"I'll get it cleaned," he offered. "Or maybe I'll just get you another -"

Grissom shook his head. "This is a first edition -" he said quietly. "One of a kind -"

Again, Greg wished for a different reaction from Grissom. Anger, he could handle. Quiet resignation, not so much.

"Come on," Greg insisted, "There's got to be other books in existence. I'll look for it on the net. I'll get Hodges to help -" But he let the word trail off as he realized how hopeless the situation was. Even if he found a similar book, it would not be the one Gil's father gave him.

-----

TBC

As a book lover, I completely understand Grissom's sadness.


	3. Christmas with Billy, Part Two

Christmas with Billy

Part two.

Important note: This story is a prequel to 'Billy'.

Brief mention of W/S

* * *

Taking advantage of a red light, Greg glanced over his shoulder.

Billy was sitting in his new child seat, dispiritedly glancing outside. He didn't like to sit in the back. What he wanted more than anything was to sit on the front seat right beside his daddy.

"We're almost there, Billy," Greg said. "We're gonna see Santa."

Billy brightened, but it was clear that Santa was the farthest thing in his mind. "D'you think daddy Gil liked my pictures?" he asked.

"He loved them," Greg said reassuringly. "He was really surprised, you know." _No kidding._

"I'm gonna draw you a picture, too, daddy. One of Truddy -"

"I'd love that! Would you draw one for Aunt Karen, too?"

"Sure! I'm gonna draw her a pretty flower. She likes flowers -" and he chattered away, happy to have Greg's attention.

The young man skillfully kept his side of the conversation while he drove, but his thoughts kept going back to Gil and his book.

"Shit," Greg whispered as it hit him, yet again, that he'd let this happen. He should have kept an eye on Billy instead of focusing on his Christmas ornaments. Sure, he had a valid excuse -sort of; he was dusting Christmas ornaments, and Billy usually reacted badly to dust, so working in the living room made sense. Still...

If only Billy had chosen another book... One of Greg's costly texts, for instance; those had no sentimental value to speak of. Why, oh why, did it have to be Gil's book? And why did it have to be _this_ book precisely?

Grissom rarely spoke of his father –actually, 'never' was a more precise word: Gil never spoke of his father. There were unresolved issues there that Greg could only surmise, but one thing was certain: For Gil, the book was his only link to his dad.

Greg sighed. There was no way he could ever make it up to Gil.

Thank God Billy was there to take his mind off his gloomy thoughts.

"Is Santa going to wait for me, daddy?" the child asked when they stopped at another red light.

"Sure, he will. Do you know what you're going to ask him for?"

Billy shook his head shyly. For an only child with two dotting parents (and various dotting 'uncles' and 'aunts' from the lab), he was remarkably unspoiled. Greed wasn't part of his nature.

"Maybe he'll bring you a new truck," Greg said enticingly. There was one already wrapped at the top of his closet. "Wouldn't you like that?"

Greg was smiling, but talking of Santa only reminded him of a recent disagreement with Gil.

Gil didn't consider 'Santa' an edifying character. It wasn't just that Santa represented the mercenary side of Christmas; Gil had just met too many creepy Santas over the years to willingly trust his son to one of them. But Greg, who had a more optimistic view on Santa and Christmas in general, insisted. Billy deserved to enjoy every Christmas tradition, he said, and besides, he'd be there to supervise.

Grissom finally relented, on one condition: he'd choose the Santa himself. That meant canvassing several malls and dozens of stores all over town, but he did it; he did a meticulous investigation till he found a Santa he considered trustworthy, and at the one place he should have gone to from the start: a bookstore.

Greg had pictured the three of them going together, but it was not to be. He didn't even ask Grissom to come; the last time he saw him, Grissom was picking Billy's crayons, looking like a long-suffering martyr resigned to his fate. Hopefully, he'd be looking a little better by the time they were back.

----

He did look better.

Grissom must have been on the lookout for them, because the door opened the minute Greg parked the car. He stood there for a moment, then came to their encounter just as Greg was finishing unbuckling Billy.

The boy cheered up when he saw Grissom.

"We brought you a present!" he announced before Greg could stop him. The boy still hadn't learned restraint when it came to Christmas presents; he just couldn't wait to tell people the good news. Luckily, he didn't reveal what the gifts themselves were.

Grissom was smiling, amused at Greg's covert efforts to shush the boy.

"Did you?" Gil asked innocently. "I don't see anything."

Billy turned to Greg.

"Show him, daddy," he said.

Reluctantly, Greg took a parcel he'd hidden under the front seat of his car and brought it out in the open, but only for a moment. He put other presents on top, and then looked defiantly at Grissom, who was covertly studying the presents.

"Stop looking at it," Greg admonished.

"It's wrapped, Greg," Gil said patiently, "I don't know what's inside. Although, judging by its shape, I'd say it's a book."

"Gil -"

"Ah, but which book?" Gil asked. "That's the fun part," he added, "The guesswork."

Noticing Gil's impish smile, Greg knew that a warning was in order.

"I'm putting this in the closet," he said, "If I catch you poking at it -"

"I never poke at gifts," Grissom said indignantly. "I only shake them a little."

Greg didn't think that was funny.

"Yeah, well, try not to shake this one either. It's a surprise, ok? You gotta wait till Christmas, or -"

"Or what?" Gil prompted. He looked curiously at Greg, who had stopped in mid-word and now was frowning, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just said. "Greg?"

"I've just realized something," Greg said. He looked at Grissom. "I've started to sound like my grandmother. You know, 'don't touch this', 'don't touch that-'"

"I've never heard you say those words," Grissom dismissed. "On the contrary."

"On the contrary?" Greg frowned.

"Yeah," Gil said, straight-faced, "You're always telling me to 'touch this' and to 'touch that'... Repeatedly," he added huskily.

Greg gaped. He looked around in case Billy was listening, but the child was more interested in playing tug-of-war with Truddy.

Gil chuckled.

"Relax," he said, "He didn't hear me." He looked closely at Greg, "Where did this come from? You're not a disciplinarian kind of person."

"And I don't want to become one," Greg said firmly. He didn't want to spend Christmas warning Billy or Truddy not to touch the tree. Which meant those crystal baubles were going back to the attic. Instead, he'd get some kid-friendly (and pet-friendly) Christmas ornaments. Oh, and if Grissom wanted to poke at his gifts, well, then that was ok, too.

He looked at Grissom.

"You can open it now if you want," he said, offering him the stack of packages.

"I don't want to," Grissom said. "I'll wait."

"It is a book," Greg admitted sheepishly. "Not _the_ book, though."

Gil looked down, a bit embarrassed.

"I know I can never replace it," Greg continued, "I'm sorry; I just -"

"It's ok," Gil said, cutting into Greg's apology. "It really is. Listen," he added, loud enough for Billy could hear, "I've got a surprise for you two."

"A surprise?" Billy perked up.

"Come on," Gil said, motioning them to follow into the house.

He guided them to the dining room table, the one they used for school projects and work, but rarely for eating, for it was just too big for three people. The table was covered with pieces of paper, but what caught Greg's attention was the Edward Lear's book lying on a corner.

Entire pages had been neatly cut off from it.

Greg' froze at the sight but moved when Grissom motioned him to approach. Gil picked up Billy and sat him on the edge of the table so he could take a closer look, too.

"You used my drawings!" Billy said happily.

"Wow," Greg said.

Gil had made a collage by pasting Billy's drawings and the Edward Lear's illustrations on a sheet of butcher paper. The glue still wet in some areas, but the concept was obvious: it was a celebration of their family. Gil had put pictures of the three of them all over, but there was one picture Greg had never seen before -a portrait shot of a man wearing glasses.

He looked kind of familiar -

"Who's he?" Billy asked, pointing at the stranger.

"That's my father," Gil said quietly.

"Your daddy?" Billy asked, looking back reverently at the man.

While Billy examined Gil's work, Greg pulled Gil aside.

"We could have had the book cleaned," he whispered. "I asked at the bookstore. Why did you -"

Grissom smiled.

"I just started thinking," he said, shrugging slightly. "My dad didn't give me that book so I'd put it away for years. He wanted me to read it and have fun with it. If he hadn't died so soon, I would have done exactly what Billy did; I would have drawn insects all over it, and scribbled notes on the margins. I would have _enjoyed_ it. Instead, I -" He let the word trail off. He glanced at Billy, who was using a red marker to put some finishing touches on a drawing. "I want Billy to enjoy that book," he said firmly. "And I want him to know about my dad."

Greg put his hand on Grissom's shoulder and gave him a little squeeze. Gil smiled back but didn't immediately say anything. For a moment, all they did was watch Billy.

"By the way," Gil said after a moment, "Did you get to see Santa?"

Billy shook his head, but his focus remained on the collage.

Greg explained. "We were in line behind some twenty parents and their kids, when Billy caught sight of a Nativity display. It was tucked away behind some books, you know, so non-believers wouldn't be offended, but Billy didn't miss it. He wanted to know what it was all about, so I told him." He smiled, "He asked me why Mary and Jesus weren't in a hospital, like Sara and BB."

Grissom smiled. Sara had recently given birth to her daughter, and they'd visited her at the hospital. Billy had been suitable impressed, especially when he saw BB (which is how he ended up calling the baby after struggling in vain to pronounce her name). He worried that she might be too tiny and frail; it wasn't till Warrick explained to him that all babies were like that that he relaxed.

"Anyway," Greg continued, "I told him a little about Mary and Joseph's ordeal, then he insisted I told him the rest of the story -"

"Not all the story, I hope," Gil said, a bit taken aback.

"Relax; I only told him about His birth and the three Wise Men. I'll leave the rest for later. Much later," he added pointedly. "Anyway, he was so taken by the story that we ended up getting a pop-up book of it. When it came to getting back in line, he said he didn't need to talk to Santa after all, so -" he let the word trail off.

Greg lowered his voice. "Look," he said, "I know we've never discussed religion; and I know that you don't trust religious institutions as a rule, but… I'd like Billy to have some beliefs. I was raised a Catholic, so -"

"It's ok," Gil said. "I'm glad you told him about Jesus." He glanced at Billy again. "I want him to know that parents will sometimes do anything for their kids' sake. Even flee their country -"

Greg smiled.

"Or give up their family heirlooms."

Grissom smiled back, then glanced at Billy again.

"He's a great kid," he whispered.

"Yeah. Oh, by the way," Greg said, "I ordered a bookcase. It has locks, and everything. You know. For our textbooks."

Gil smiled. "You're a great partner."

"I try," Greg shrugged modestly.

* * *

The end... for now.


End file.
